


Destiel in the Bunker

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world where they get to enjoy some down time in the bunker. Fluff to slow burn to eventual 'E'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I think I'm gonna like it here....

“Dean, I don’t understand. Why do you want me to wear that in the…”

“Dammit, Cas, just put ‘em on.” Dean used his ‘don’t waste my time here’ voice and shook the swim trunks clutched in his hand, the ones he’d scrounged up in one of the bunker closets.

Even though he was on the other side of an entirely opaque shower curtain, Castiel could picture him frowning, jaw tight.

“Very well.”

He fumbled as he pulled them over his shins, tugging at them harder against the long, slow drag of increasingly wet cotton against his soaped-up skin. 

Then Dean was flipping the curtain back, climbing in with him.

“Was that so difficult?” He was taking care to stay far enough away that his own boxer briefs only got incidental contact with the spray. “Now, take a big step back for me and tilt your head. More. Tilt. Close your eyes.”

“You _could_ have instructed me through the curtain,” Cas grumbled but did as asked, eyes squinting more than actually shutting as the water ran in a pleasant, caressing stream over his head and down his shoulders, his back. “I am not a child. I can follow directions. I was _made_ to follow…”

“Yeah, yeah. Will you pay attention? Some things you tell, some things you show.”

It had all started when Dean noticed Castiel’s locks taking on a waxy, dull, stiff look. He could almost imagine the strands crunching if he ran his fingers through them. Not that he’d ever… but if he did, they might. Crunch.

When he quizzed him about it, Cas’ eyes fell to the floor, embarrassed. Then he had admitted that perhaps something in his understanding of certain grooming rituals was … _off_ and asked if it was supposed to hurt so much, combing your hair?

“You can either put the soap right in and then foam it up or foam it in your hands first and then put it in,” Dean doled a good-sized glop of shampoo on his palm and lathered it. “You don’t just slather it on and let it sit there. Get your fingers working. Like this. Turn it into a mess of bubbles, get some more water in it and…”

“Ohhhh… it smells nice,” Castiel found his head reflexively tilting back even further, nose chasing the scent. “Very nice.”

“Hell, yeah, it does. Almost too nice. Kind of like almonds and peaches and flowers and shit. You pick it out at the store?”

“No, Sam bought it.”

“Sounds about right. S’probably organic, non-sulfite, made by monks living on a cloud hovering over Nepal. Anyway, once you get it going good, then you scrub. Like this.”

“Son of a… _ohhhhhh_ , sweet _mother_ of….”

The unaccustomed words flying rough and low out of Cas’ mouth, the way he twisted and almost stumbled as he grabbed at Dean’s arms and pushed him away took the wind out of them both.

“What the hell’s wrong? Tell me that did not hurt. That could _not_ have…”

“Hurt me? No, it, uh… is it supposed to feel that good? Fingernails running over your scalp?”

“Not something I’ve given more than ten seconds thought to ever, but yeah I guess. It does feel good. Probably feels even better, it being someone else’s nails? Someone else’s fingers?”

Dean looked determined to be a grown up about this but also deeply embarrassed, and now Cas felt embarrassed, too – not because in the confusion they’d moved backward and Dean was drenched, boxers clinging to him like a thin, wet glove. Not because he’d admitted how good it felt, Dean touching him. It was because, Castiel realized, Dean was giving something he’d never received, himself. 

“Continue,” He said the only thing he could think to say, blushing at how ragged it came out. “Please.”

“All right. So, it might not make sense, scratching at your head in order to clean it,” Dean’s fingers went back to work, his voice into a clinical, coaching mode again. “But it’s how you shed your scales and get the new cells up where the fresh air and sunshine are. Then….. you rinse. And that does not mean stick your head under, count to ten and get the hell out. Which is what I guess you’ve been doing. Gotta make sure all the soap goes down the drain.”

Castiel tried to absorb the words, to appreciate the assistance, but the rich sweet scent all around him and Dean’s hands in his hair, the warm water sliding over him… somewhere along the way he stopped listening and just hung on, eyes closed, breath shallow, one hand on Dean’s left arm the other on his hip, and _now_ his head unconsciously chased Dean’s fingers wherever they went.

He didn’t even hear the pounding on the bathroom door until Dean started cussing.

“Castiel, you want lunch?” Sam. “Making soup and I need to know how many cans to open. You in?”

“Yeah, we’re in,” Dean barked it for them both. “Be right down.”

“Uh……”

“Brain out of the gutter, Sammy. I’m just playing hair dresser.”

“Oh….. kay. I can hear the shower, so…. that explanation? It's not really helping.”

Dean snorted. Castiel looked up to see him grinning his shit-eating, ‘whatever’ grin and he wanted to….apologize as ridiculous as that felt.

“Wanna hit the taps for me?” The grin was still there but something a little heavier was in Dean’s eyes, his voice.

“What?”

“The water, buddy. Turn it off, okay?”

He did, angling away from him to find the knobs and as soon as the water stopped there was a towel over his head and Dean shoving it around with one hand, light and teasing like a ….brother. 

Like a friend would do.

By the time he tugged it off, Dean was gone and the sudden departure and the cool air sliding around the curtain as he left made him shiver.

“See you down there, Cas.”

~*~

It took him more than a few minutes to get his hair dry enough to not drip on his shirt. By the time he got close to the kitchen the two of them were already eating, spoons clinking against bowls, air rich with the smell of beef stew.

“You do realize you could have shown him that over the sink? You know it's, in fact, blatantly _obvious_ you could have shown him over the…” 

“Shut up.”

Castiel pretended not to have heard as he filled his own bowl and joined them. 

“Follicles feeling copasetic?” Dean reached and tugged at a few of the strands over his left ear and….warmth. Waves of warmth from that single, slight touch.

He batted Dean’s hand away.

“Yes.”

The sound Sam made – it was entirely ‘oh, please,’ but a warm ‘oh, please’ as they ate in silence.

It was the afternoon the bunker started to feel like home. The first time Castiel had any clue what home on earth might feel like. 

He thought he might like it here.


	2. Shared Resources

“Cas, man… you awake?” 

Dean tried not to sound too annoyed with him as he gave the couch leg the slightest of kicks, but Castiel didn’t move a bit. 

His long body was taking up everything but the last quarter of the furthest cushion, face aimed toward the back, knees hitched slightly. His arms were tight around a huge bed pillow, head buried in its overstuffed folds, and you could see he’d been tossing and turning – his hair was a mess, sweatpants riding down by his hip. His t-shirt had rolled up, revealing a sweet slice of belly and abs that swelled ever so slightly as he breathed in and out. 

Dean set his beer on the coffee table, squatting and then sitting on the floor next to him.

“Hey…c’mon. This can’t be comfortable,” He found the remote on the floor and turned down the TV, then ran fingertips over the crown of Cas’ head, ruffling his hair.

He was only touching him to make sure the shampooing lesson had taken. It had. 

“Soft. Really soft hair for a guy. Then again, I got no frame of reference, do I?”

Dean let his fingers dig deeper, tugging at a few of the dark strands, lightly, palm resting against his head. Castiel jumped, then, giving a soft, low groan. It was a sound Dean discovered neither he nor select parts of his body had been at all ready for.

“Dude, why are you sleeping on the couch when you’ve got a room?” 

He said it fast, pulling his hand away, voice harsher than he’d expected. He could hear how much it sounded he was trying to change a subject that wasn’t even there to change. 

He could have saved himself the effort: Cas didn’t bother asking why Dean had been sitting by him, basically petting him. 

“It’s very quiet in my room. Too far away from you both. I’m used to…. when I’m here…. well, waiting for you and Sam to wake up. I would watch television to kill the time…and there isn’t one in my room.” Castiel looked still out of it – voice scratchy, his eyes that heavy, troubled kind of confused they got sometimes. “Dean, do people dream multiple times each night? Is that normal?”

“Yeah, very. Like every ninety minutes or so. Don’t always remember ‘em all in the morning, though. Why?”

“I hate dreaming. It’s disappointing, because it was one of the few things I looked forward to when I became human, or, well, partly human. I thought it must be very entertaining, like watching a movie. But… it’s horrible. Terrifying, sometimes. Impossible, illogical things happen – in waves. And they feel so real.”

“What, for instance?” Dean got up, grabbed his beer, nodding for him to shove up and Cas did, pillow going with him. He settled on his back as Dean sat down at the other end, feet finding the coffee table.

“Tonight I dreamed I was enjoying a cheeseburger … until I began losing my teeth. I felt one get… _loose_ and I tugged and it came out. Then another and another. It didn't hurt, but I could feel the crunching of the bone in the socket and…”

“Okay, _that_ dream? It means change. In a good, way. True fact,” Dean said between swigs. “You’d think it’d be a bad omen, right? Your teeth falling out. But in a dream, it means you’re going through change. Growth.”

“What?” Cas said it almost petulantly. “Why?”

Two simple words, but so full of ‘why in the hell would pulling your teeth out of your own head with your fingers ever signify something good, the human brain makes no sense’ and Dean had to chuckle. 

“You’ll have better dreams someday. I promise. Life won’t always be this strange.”

Castiel made a face that said he genuinely hoped not. Then Dean watched it melt away, replaced by a gently embarrassed horror.

“You wanted to come watch TV. You couldn’t sleep and you wanted a drink and the sofa. It’s a shared resource and I’m hogging it. I’m sorry, I’ll….”

“Stop it,” Cas had started to get up, but Dean got a hand on one of his legs before he could swing them down and he stretched back out, face still uncertain. “I know _that’s_ confusing for you, too – not being able to read me like you used to. But maybe don’t assume the worst off the bat, all right? Yeah, I wanted the sofa and I found you all over it but... you just said you hate your room, right? So go back to sleep. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Mind if I watch something, though?”

“Of course not,” Cas was already sliding back onto his side as he said so, entwined with the pillow again, face relaxing and eyes closing.

Dean could feel him falling asleep as he blipped around the channels, Cas’ legs shifting and drifting, his feet unconsciously pressing against him – one against Dean’s thigh, the other practically on his ass cheek. He thought about giving a shove but opted to let it be.

He found a movie that looked tolerable and put down the remote, kicking back a little more and, yeah; now he definitely had angel feet on his lap. 

Dean let his arm settle, hand finding its way around an ankle, squeezing, and Castiel made a comforted, entirely unconscious ‘mmmmmmmmm’ sound. He let his thumb wander, then stopped, feeling the thump of Cas' pulse in the little dip between ankle bone and foot.

“What the hell?” 

Why?

Why did it feel so good? Taking care of him? 

Why did it feel like taking care of himself?

~*~

Castiel and Sam were already in the kitchen, eating breakfast when Dean got up the next morning. 

They were conferring over some case Sam was assessing online, trying to figure out if it was ‘them.’ They decided it wasn’t, but figuring that out ate up half the day and if Cas had any thoughts, questions, concerns about their snuggle the night before Dean never saw it on his face. 

He sure as hell wasn’t bringing it up.

When Dean woke up at zero dark hundred again and couldn’t drop back off, his trip to the refrigerator was an entirely solo experience. No TV on, no Cas on the couch.

He walked back to Castiel’s room and pressed an ear to the door. He heard the tinny, mono audio sound of a portable TV – probably the ancient little one with the ten inch screen he remembered seeing in the garage when they’d cleaned it up. 

“You awake?” He tapped, then pushed the door open a crack and looked in. 

Cas was out; flat on his back, an arm flung. He always used to sit or lay with some space at his back, room for his wings Dean had guessed, but the boy was sprawled and snuffling softly – just shy of a snore. No wings. Apparently no worries- not tonight, at least.

Dean let the door fall softly closed. 

He thought about going to the living room, but it was dark and uninviting and….too quiet. 

He took his drink back to bed, instead.

~tbc~


	3. Wakeup Call...with Soup

“Should we split this up and attack it separately,” Castiel unfolded the notebook paper covered in Dean’s scrawl. “Or go in together?”

“Plan B. I like Plan B.” Sam grabbed a cart. “Work for you?”

“Yes,” Cas felt his heart beat faster as he rattled off the items they needed in the produce section.

A happy tingle always spread from his shoulders, up his spine and over the back of his head in these places: the cement and glass boxes where people came to stock up, to feed and nourish themselves, their families and friends. It was absolutely the most pedestrian experience possible for the most fortunate of the humans – they seldom even thought about their trips to the grocery store, but …

He knew it was about a feeling of belonging. Or at least starting to. That tingle.

“Castiel, can I ask you something …uh, on the personal side?”

He would remember he was picking out tomatoes when Sam asked. Love apples. That’s what they called them in the Middle Ages, when they were new, rare, and a little risqué. Back then, some thought they were poisonous.

“Of course.”

He couldn’t imagine what was coming. He wasn’t sure he owned a _personal_ , he was such an open book to them by now.

Oh. 

He got a tingle of an entirely different sort, right before Sam went on.

“You do realize that I know. Right? That I see … it?”

Castiel almost dropped a tomato, tried to recover by flipping it, testing it for ripeness. 

“What do you see, Sam?”

Thankfully, it came out not defensive. He could use his perspective, _wanted_ it, but to ask never seemed proper. 

“Well, I saw how crushed Dean was when you didn’t trust him with the angel tablet. Like it was the worst thing that ever… wait, that’s not true,” Sam looked up from picking through the potatoes. “He was way more crushed when he thought you were lost in Purgatory. He was drinking himself into a coma most nights.”

“No.”

“Yeah, sorry but…it’s true. He was a mess. And I also know that if you wanted to, you could find other people who would help you out. It must have dawned on you that life here would be easier with people who aren’t so … on a mission of their own. But you stay. And I know why.”

“Why are you coming to _me_ with this?”

“Because of my brother’s legendary stubbornness. And…'cause I know he’s holding back – that he’s scared.”

“Dean said once he was sure he’d let me down as he had everyone else who was important to him.”

“There you go. His self-esteem is in a sub-basement a few floors beneath Crowley’s wine cellar. Listen, if you’re okay with the two of you going on as you are and never being more…then ignore me. Hell, maybe that’d even be for the best, what do I know? But if not? I’m just saying… you might have to act. Or you might both miss out on something important. As in miss out forever.”

Castiel’s eyes were on the paper again, unable to focus on it. 

“Clock’s ticking faster for _us_ than it is for most people, right?” Sam said.

There were a dozen follow-up questions he wanted to ask; _how, when, what do I do, what do I say_ …but something told him to stick with silence and a nod.

“Don’t worry. You’ve got this, buddy,” Sam gave him a nudge and pushed the cart forward. “What’s next on the list?”

~*~

“What took so long?” Dean was standing at the stove when they got back, tending to something in a tall pot that smelled absolutely glorious.

“Wow,” Sam dropped the bags and started unpacking. “Making meatball soup?”

“Yeah, figured I’d give it a shot. Been a hell of a long time, no promises how it’ll actually taste.”

Castiel had started to un-bag things, too, but found himself drawn by the scent. He went to Dean and watched over his shoulder; Dean adding carrots, celery and chicken stock to the roasted onion and garlic. There was a ritual to it that only added to the aroma – he was so absorbed, he never heard them talking until Dean nudged him.

“Cas, I need potatoes peeled and cubed. Think you can tolerate wielding something as lowly as a paring knife for a few minutes?”

“Yes,” he found the bag of potatoes and set it in the sink, ripping it open. 

“For the peels,” Sam dropped a plastic shopping bag next to the spuds and gave him a quick slap on the back on his way out of the room.

“Hey,” Dean visibly waited until Sam was gone to go on. “Can I ask you something?”

Castiel's heart fell into his shoes so fast, he never felt the blade slicing into his finger. He didn’t realize it _had_ , until Dean pushed him further under the sink, cold water suddenly running over his bleeding left middle finger. 

“Holy crap, that’s… not good. That’s a deep one. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Sorry,” he watched Dean grabbing a towel, tugging at a corner to pull away a strip of it, winding it around his gouged finger. “Clumsy of me.”

“My fault. Shoulda let you stir. Not like you’ve ever had a chance to play sous chef before,” Dean pulled off another length of cloth and doubled the bandage. “Now that we have bathrooms and cabinets…we outta buy ourselves some damn Band Aids, maybe. Here – you mind the pot and put stuff in when I call for it. Okay? I’ll chop. That hurt much?”

“No,” Castiel waited ‘til his breathing had evened out. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Feels…stupid now.”

“Go ahead. Please.”

“Well… I’ve been wanting to ask if you’re happy. Here. Despite all the adjusting. I wondered… if you’re planning on sticking around?”

“Why wouldn’t I…”

“It’s … you have a habit of taking off. You know? To watch the bees and the flowers. To go do random good deeds and…that’s all awesome, good for you, don’t get me wrong but…”

“I have no intention of going anywhere, Dean.”

He was glad for the dual tasks of stirring and minding the bandage on his finger. Glad for reasons not to look him in the eye as he said it.

“Good. That’s….good. I’m glad.”

All the questions he’d wanted to ask Sam in the store bubbled back into Castiel’s throat, but he pushed them down.

They’d have to wait. This moment was right, just as it was.

There was still time on the clock. Hopefully.


	4. The Best I can Do For You...

“Cas, there’s a first aid kit in the trunk; silver box, red handle…” 

He felt Sam push him. 

“Go, _hurry_!”

He did, but he kept half an eye on them; Sam walking backward, arms under Dean, dragging his unconscious brother toward the Impala. Sam was tugging him into the car when he brought the box to him, was getting up over Dean on the back seat to rip his shirt apart at the left shoulder. That’s when Cas saw what he hadn't during the melee; the jagged gouge running from Dean's shoulder to his elbow and a thin, quivering, _half-alive twig_ protruding from his arm.

“Go around; hold him still for me. If he fights this….”

Sam’s voice had none of its usual gentleness – was low, tight and all business.

Castiel did, left foot pushing into the floor of the car for support as he got in, right leg folding, helping him lift Dean up and close to him. Dean’s head was lolling against his shoulder and he was so…. _out_ , a familiar, solid weight in his arms.

“Gotta get the stinger…” Sam was digging at it, medical-grade tweezers an inch deep in Dean’s flesh, trying not to do any more damage as he tugged. 

“They’re…poisonous?”

“Manticores? Hell, yeah. Germy, too, like a dirty, fricking eel bite. The stingers do a corkscrew thing once they go in, like they’re holding on. Their only job is to get more poison in you, to turn you from prey into dinner.” 

Sam was holding the wound open, and Castiel felt his stomach rolling. Human gore was hard to look at, now that he knew how it felt. Now that he couldn’t mend it with a touch.

“Almost out….” Sam angled the tweezers. “Stay under, Dean, stay under.”

Of course he didn’t. Why should any of them be that lucky?

“Ahhhnnngghhh….no… _ooo_ ooo!” Dean jumped, body rippling, twisting in Castiel’s arms. His legs thrashed under Sam, boots kicking the far door, head fighting to pull up away from where Cas had it pinned with a palm on his forehead. “I don’t, I caaaan’t….I don’t deser….”

“Hold him, c’mon…almost….there!”

The stinger was out, but Dean was still bucking, eyes open but unseeing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll start to get better, now…” Sam said it loud, repeated it softer as Dean’s shouts turned to panting and low, long whimpers. 

Castiel had been murmuring to him as he held him back, lips against Dean’s ear. But it took him a while to realize he’d also started kissing him between the soothing words; lips tracing over his cheek, his temple, the corner of his eye. He could taste the sun in Dean’s tanned skin; salty, damp from the hot afternoon and the stress of this sudden misery. 

He felt tears burning at the corners of his own eyes as Dean relaxed with a whispered, ‘Cas,’ then went limp in his lap. Out cold from pain, yes, but…out. His breathing was even again, color returning to his face.

Thank goodness.

“Nice job talking him down,” Sam was flipping shut the first aid kit, eyes averted. “Let’s get him home.”

~*~

“Mythical creature?” Dean slurred it doubtfully, senses dulled by the ordeal.

He was sitting in a kitchen chair, shirt off, watching Sam sew his arm up. 

“Didn’t feel so freaking mythical with its frickin’…monster paws around my damn shoulders. Rat-bastard looked like a rabid lion-cat-dog, wearing a spiky suit of armor on its ass-end. That tail’s what shot me full of liquid fireball?”

“Yes. And I think it’s my fault,” Sam said. “I conjured the thing. Not... me _exactly_ but…”

Cas stopped rinsing the blood and peroxide from the sink to turn and squint at him.

“Thing is, I’d been reading a book before we went for our drive,” Sam started in on the next stitch. “It had an entry all about these creatures, how in legend they were part human, part lion. I was thinking to myself….maybe ancient people ran into some kind of messed up dog or a hybrid wildcat and…”

“That’s why it looked so cobbled together…” Cas said. “It could only work with what you had in your head about them… and what was there was a jumble.”

“Exactly.”

Dean made a fist with his free arm, banging on the table to vent his misery as Sam reached the deepest part of the wound.

“Sorry.”

“I know, just…are we almost done, please?”

“Yup. Listen, something… cast a spell,” Sam picked the theorizing back up. “Witch, probably, right? Whatever it is, it has to be monitoring that area we were in; either that whole part of Kansas, or the specific town, or that exact cornfield.”

“It cast a spell to create a security system,” Cas said. “To keep people away.”

“Maybe all people or maybe just hunters,” Sam said. “Why bring attention to a spell ‘til it’s needed, right? Who cares if a bunch of kids have a picnic in your cornfield? But us….”

“You’re telling me if you hadn’t read about manticores this morning, we mighta gotten chased around by a bunch of homicidal clowns again?”

“Yeah,” Sam huffed, knotting off the thread, reaching for the scissors. “Could be. I’d rather have seen the clowns coming at us. And that’s saying something. We’ve gotta find whatever set that spell or…who the hell knows what else will end up out there.”

“You find it, I gank it. I want the honors.” 

Dean took the glass of water and the painkillers Cas handed him, then pulled on the fresh t-shirt waiting for him on the table.

“Get some rest,” Sam headed for the library. “I’ll go start looking for ideas....”

~*~

“We can’t win, can we?” Dean had gone straight for the liquor cabinet in the den, Cas following him, silent. “We try to lay low for a while…but we can’t even go for a spin, pick up some beers and food, enjoy a damn day trip…”

“Should you drink? With the pills?” 

Cas watched him filling a short glass to the top with bourbon. 

“I’ll be careful. I know my limits,” Dean bit it out, voice tired and just short of pissy. 

He must have seen more worry than judgment on his face, though, because he stopped and grabbed another glass, splitting what he’d poured and handing him the other half. “Here. Knock this back. You don’t look much better off than I feel.”

“It doesn’t mean we’re cursed, Dean” Cas sat on the sofa, sipping. “I believe Sam is right, any hunter who happened through would have…”

“I hurt so bad I couldn't see straight. I was lost. I thought….” Dean joined him, leaning back, eyes closing. “I thought I was…”

“I know. Where you thought you were.”

Dean didn’t move but nodded, a ‘thank you for not making me say it.’

“Then I heard your voice, and … _fuck,_ I was so relieved.” 

“I felt so powerless. Before, I could have…”

Dean opened his eyes, shaking his head at him. Then he reached with his good arm, the tips of his fingers tracing over Cas’ temple, his cheek, thumb stroking the spot by the corner of his eye. Cas felt himself blush with realization. 

“What was it you were chanting at me in the car? In that pretty, fancy, angel-lingo?”

“I don’t know … uh… if there’s an exact, English translation…” 

He sputtered and Dean smiled, and even though it was a dark, tired smile it was so good. So beautiful. 

“Can you be patient with me, Castiel?”

“Yes.”

He said it automatically, blushing again at how fast it came out, like he’d say yes to anything. He took another fast drink of the alcohol to hide his embarrassment and then it hit him, made his head tilt and his lip pull back in a scowl.

“Patient…about what?”

The smile got less dark, a flicker of light in Dean’s eyes for the first time all afternoon and then Dean was leaning in, lips pressed to his once, twice. He felt a wave of _ohnotoosoon, notready, Dean not ready._

“Hey,” Dean nipped at his lip, tugged it with his teeth and he shivered from it, that soft bite. “It’s customary to kiss back, man. I know you can. Saw you kiss a demon, remember?”

He did kiss him back; restrained, letting him lead and decide how far it would go. But on the third, soft press he let his lips part, an invitation, a deeper thrill running through him when Dean took it with a happy hum, tongue flicking and teasing, looking for his.

That was it; it was on -- the slick, sweet, warm slide of mouths, drinks set aside, hands finding their way to each other to rest on a shoulder, a leg as their heads did the dance. He could have kept going all night; spent hours learning the taste of him, the exact pressure Dean liked, the ratio of tongue to teeth, suck to slither. 

So good. So worth the wait.

“Forgive me if I go crash?” Dean only pulled away a bit when he finally did, pressing their foreheads together. “I gotta go sleep for a week, maybe. You can come check me if you want but… don’t wake me up, please. I need …oblivion.”

“Of course.”

He watched him go, taking the bourbon with him, not looking back. He ran his fingers over his own lips and marveled at the specific feeling of Dean having just kissed him dizzy. Then he went to help Sam with the research.

~*~

They’d looked for clues and read big books of spells for hours, but eventually they both gave in to exhaustion.

Dean looked out when he went to check him again, but only barely; on his side, arm braced awkwardly in front of him over a pillow. Dean was a back sleeper, but lying that way must have put too much pressure on the wound. 

Cas thought about leaving, then he thought about the grocery store and Sam’s words to him and he was kicking off his shoes, stripping to his boxers, sliding in behind Dean carefully and gathering up the spare pillows.

“I’ll go if you want,” he said when Dean roused, eyes bleary.

“No. Don’t.”

Castiel got pillows behind himself for support, then sank back into them, pulling Dean over him. Now Dean was in his familiar sleep pose, but with his injured arm resting balanced along Castiel’s side, the wound free from any pressure.

“Yessss….” Dean sighed deep, and was gone almost that fast.

It wasn’t like healing him, but…it was something. It was what he could do.


	5. Fingers and hands, tongue and mouth

“How long you been awake?” 

Dean walked to the dresser, loosening the towel around his waist, tossing it toward the laundry basket as he glanced at where Castiel lay on his back staring at the ceiling.

It was a pain in the neck, how the bathroom and showers were down the hall in the bunker, dorm style; a small adjustment to make, though, for having a home like the one they had now.

“Only for a few minutes,” Castiel turned onto his side, the heavy fog around him thinning as their eyes met, the edge of a smile playing at one side of his mouth. “Can’t you tell from my utter lack of raring-to-go?”

“Hey, lookie there….” Dean pulled on boxers and shut the drawer. “You made a joke at your own expense. That’s awesome. And you admitted you’re a cranky-ass bed partner. That’s honest.”

Castiel clearly still hated sleeping – at least the being asleep part. The falling asleep with Dean and waking up next to him? He’d gotten good with that in a _hurry_ ; ‘Castiel’s room’ turned into ‘the spare room’ in under a week. But Dean had needed to shake him out of a nightmare more than once, running a hand over his damp forehead, pulling him close, am arm diagonal over him until he felt Cas drift away again.

Still, even with the disruptions Dean was getting a hell of a lot more sleep than his ‘normal four’ – more like seven hours a night, and it was shocking, how well he felt.

“My arm’s a lot better,” Dean sat on the bed sideways, showing off the long scar. “Tried leaning into the shower wall with both hands nice and hard and not a single twinge. I might have Sammy snip the stitches out, what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Cas tried for a poker face but the smile deepened. “Perhaps you should test it once more. Another set of eyes….underneath you… might help.”

“Kinda like a second opinion?” Dean got up and over him, urging him onto his back again, hands and knees planted in the mattress. “How’m I lookin’ so far, doc?”

He kept his chest up but dipped his hips to rub his body against Cas’ lightly, a tease, loving on how Cas’ eyes went vacant, head tilting back, his focus turning inward as Dean did it again and again. Through his own boxers and the sheet Cas was half under, Dean could feel him coming to full attention for him.

“Hate to tell you this,” Dean said “But I…kinda took care of my morning wood in the shower. You looked like you were out for the count, ‘til lunch maybe, and….”

“Ah. Well….” Cas was not good at poker voice, either. “It’s okay, we don’t have to…”

“Oh, we do,” Dean dropped onto his side, his arm squawking for a break, and peeled away the sheet. “Hell, yeah, we do. _Look_ at that bad boy; you are all kinds of high and tight and medium rare. Were you dreaming about me? Before you woke up?”

“Yes.”

That was the thing with Castiel; ask a sweetly sarcastic question, and you’d better be ready for a heart-breakingly sincere answer with his whole heart in his voice. Dean let the hand he’d been sweeping over Cas’ chest go still, drew it back up to stroke one of his perfect coffee-bean brown nipples, leaning in to kiss him.

“See….told you it’d get better. That you’d have good dreams.”

“Let me get the….” Castiel reached for the side table drawer. 

“Nope,” Dean tugged him back. “Leave it. Not gonna need it this time.”

They’d hit a drug store to pick up supplies, including condoms they knew they wouldn’t likely use for a while, but, hey, fine, put ‘em in the basket. And all Dean could think standing in that aisle was how weird it didn’t feel watching him read the boxes with all those different kinds of lube—solemnly debating the merits of water-based versus silicone, flavored versus warming versus plain.

Taking it slow meant they’d only gone with hands and fingers so far; finding an angle, twisting and grinding with deep, long kisses, coming in each other’s hot, slick fists or against a hip bone or a belly sticky with come and Astroglide and …. it was so good. Every damn time.

“Why don’t we need…” Cas’ face spoke of a vague fear of chafing. 

“C’mon, lay back,” Dean tossed him the extra pillows, helped him get them behind him. “Like that, so you can watch, okay?”

“ _Ohhh_ ….” Dean heard Cas breathe it out, the light dawning, and he felt his lips curve into a smile against his skin as he kissed back over his chest and headed south. Castiel’s left hand went to Dean’s hair immediately, tugging. “I thought…when we…that I’d ….uh…I’d give you fellatio first?”

“Guess you thought wrong, huh?” 

“Have you… done this? Before?”

“Few times,” Dean murmured, nipping at the soft curve of his small belly, fingernails dragging over his thigh. “Six or seven, I guess.”

He hoped Castiel would leave it at that and not ask him if he liked it. He wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d lusted for it and then felt like filth every single time. That he’d had no clue, generally being in charge with girls and women, that he’d end up on his knees more often than not – taking not getting, his head or wrists or both pinned roughly to a dirty wall or stall or car seat. He knew he couldn’t explain that it had always been about release. Never with anyone he….

He looked up at Castiel while he painted a first, long, wet stripe up the back of Cas’ cock and all those old memories shattered, were destroyed by the want and trust and _‘please, yes, please’_ in those blue eyes. 

“You like that, baby? Been wanting my mouth on you?” Dean got an actual whimper in response and thought about teasing a few more out of him but…no. He took the head in his mouth, sucked it, light and loose, making this sloppy and wet, flicking his tongue over the back between shaft and head. 

Castiel groaned out loud, the first loud, lost moan he’d ever pulled from him and Dean could feel him twisting his upper body, getting up on his elbows to vent his pleasure but keep from fucking Dean’s face. He took him deeper, let his head start to bob, a hand lightly around the base of Cas’ dick, pumping, humming to let him know it was okay, he could push, a little, that he trusted him.

“Oh….Dean….ohhhh….. shit!” It would have made him laugh, Cas getting that….earthy, if he didn’t have a mouth full of him. “Ah _hhnnn_ nng….stop or I… I’m not going to….”

Dean pulled off, eyes going back up to him, tongue flicking over and around him in circles.

“Don’t worry about lasting, babe. Lasting’s overrated. Know what’s not overrated? Coming so hard you forget your name.”

Dean wasn’t into deep throating, not a bit, but he took him as deep as he liked, giving him long, hard sucks, palming his balls and pressing his fingers in behind them, his own already-tended-to dick twitching back to life, making him hump the bed when Castiel sobbed out loud, shouting, thrusting up and seizing and…

Dean felt the twitch happen, the quick, strong throb of a salty load headed for his mouth. He took it in one long swallow, sucking him ‘til Cas fell back to the bed, spent, making broken sounds, chest heaving. Then he licked him clean ‘til Cas pushed him gently away with a last whimper.

“Good?”

“Fuck. Yes.” Castiel said.

Angel of the lord. He’d made an angel of the lord say ‘fuck, yes’ and he was so gonna pay for that, probably.

“Potty mouth.”

“Dean….” Cas’ fingers in his hair, again, then tracing over his back as Dean hauled himself north. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” He found a bottle of water on the nightstand and swigged it, loving on the drugged look on Cas’ face. “What’s that?”

“I…..”

A knock on the door cut him off; not a knock, an insistent pounding, excited. Sam’s voice right behind it. 

“Guys … get your hands out of each other’s pants and get down here. To the kitchen. Now.”

“Technically speaking,” Dean shouted. “We can’t. Neither of us having pants on at the moment.”

“Oh, God,” Sam made a choked off sound that said ‘think before you speak next time’. “Just…. c’mon, okay? I found something.”

“Something like what?” Dean asked, but Cas was already up, searching for his clothes. 

“Something like our warlock – the one who sicked that thing on you. And we really need this one killed. It’s bad.”

They were almost out of the room when he remembered, grabbing Cas by a shoulder, stopping him.

“Hey…what was it you wanted to say?”

“Oh….it can wait,” Castiel really needed to work on that poker face. “It’s not that important.”


	6. All In

“Dean, dammit… stop!” Castiel barked. 

He’d barely gotten into the kitchen when Dean shoved him. 

“Do that again, and…”

“And what?” Dean yelled back. “And maybe you’ll listen? Sure didn’t have your attention back there, did I? I asked you to let Sam and me deal with that thing.”

Cas started walking toward the den. It was a sign of trust, walking away and turning his back, so when he felt those hands on him, pushing again, it was too much; he turned, winding up.

“Hey!” Sam was behind them, in the doorway of the den as Dean caught Cas’ sideways half punch and deflected it. Dean spun him, twisting his arm like he was going to propel him to the wall and keep on going. “Stop it, both of you. What, are you twelve?”

“Let go,” Castiel said, arm still pinned, breathing fast but his voice softer. “Now.”

“I told you,” Dean threw it down more than dropped it “…never to do that again.”

“Never do _what_? Put myself in danger? Dean, we’re constantly in danger – it’s almost our natural state of being and you ….saying that to me …you getting _angry_ isn’t going to change anything.”

Castiel could feel his frustration still rising, the fight or flight hormones flowing. Human physiology and psychology were so tied together, so cause and effect and hard to control. He fought it, watched Dean struggling too.

“You’re breakable now, Cas,” The way it came out of Dean’s mouth, voice cracking on his name. “More than you used to be. If you die I don’t…. know what…”

Castiel went to him, pulling him in tight, a cheek going to his shoulder, hand on the back of Dean’s head, anchoring him and then pulled back enough to murmur in Dean’s ear.

“Can I please point out that I’m fine?”

“It was close though,” Dean said it without moving. “Wasn’t it? I mean, it looked like…”

“Yes. I guess it was. I can’t say exactly how close, I was …kind of busy. I’m sorry I scared you. But personally killing the thing that set loose a monster on you? I’d really like to enjoy that memory for the rest of the day.”

~*~

“What were you going to say this morning?” Dean pushed his nearly empty beer around the top of the bar. “Before we left to give that warlock its bus ticket out?”

He watched Castiel reach a hand to stop the bottle, the slow circle Dean was twisting it in.

“I think we should talk about it tomorrow.”

They’d gone for a walk after their shove-fest; Castiel’s idea. He’d seen an apple orchard nearby with footpaths and a ‘pick your own - $3 per bushel’ sign in the driveway. Dean had been skeptical. A walk? But it was nice out; sunny, light breeze, many bees in the trees. At one point he surfaced from a warm haze to find his arm around Cas’ shoulder.

Then they had come to get a drink and some pub grub before going home.

“Let’s talk about it now,” Dean waved to the bartender, pointing for two more. “And have another drink – to loosen your tongue. Right?”

“Okay. Right,” Cas waited until the beers were delivered to go on. “What I was going to say is that I think we should…put a limit on what we’ve been doing lately. An expiration date.”

“A….what? Why?”

“Umm… oh, this is … hard,” Cas’ eyes were on the bar. “I can’t have us …keep on being physical. With each other.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” The words bypassed Dean’s filter and came straight out of his mouth. “I asked, specifically, and you said…”

“I’m not leaving.” the hand that had stopped the beer bottle was on his now, still cool from it. “It’s, uh, just…back when I said that I thought human intercourse was boring and repetitive I didn’t understand how it can make you… need someone in a way you didn’t before….”

“You are not backing out on me?”

Where was that goddamned filter?

“If I am it’s because I have to,” Cas was turning pink. “Because it’ll hurt too much. When you’re done with it. With me.”

“Done?”

“Dean….” 

The way Cas could subtly stretch out those two vowels in the middle of his name, make it sound so very different from when anyone else said it? It ought to be illegal. 

“You’re the man who invented the term Unattached Drifter Christmas, with the express goal of taking advantage of the broken hearted on the day devoted to erotic and romantic love. There is no way you will ever be able to..."

“Sammy told you about that?”

“It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago. Before he knew I….. The point is, if we don’t stop…..when I lose you I’ll suffer.”

“What was your first clue?” Dean asked it harsh enough that Cas looked up suddenly with a little jump, eyes going straight to his.

Screw the filter. Screw the filter into the wall with a power tool. 

“Think you’re alone, Cas? Well join the freaking black parade, baby, it’s the chance we all take, every time we choose to open up to someone. Shit. Has it felt like I’m only screwing around with you? Really?”

“I…. don’t know. I don’t have a very large…frame of reference.”

“Let me explain a couple of things to you: First, you should never say the words ‘I don’t have a very large’ to anyone, ever, in any situation. That’s just part of being a human male that you need to know about and consider. Second, I have not been screwing around. When it comes to you and me, I am all in.”

“What does that mean? All….”

“It’s a poker term, okay? It means it’s too late; it’s already gonna hurt if you back off.”

The look on Castiel’s face; the way he got it, now, how they’d crossed into something bigger than screwing for release or comfort, the way he was realizing they would, yes, lose each other someday to time or change of heart or death, and would suffer for it?

It was hard to watch it dawning on him. 

“Oh….no.”

“Oh, yes. So what’s it going to be, Cas…” Dean tapped an index finger on an imaginary ante on the bar top. “Are you in? Or out?”

~*~

“Will you please surrender?” Castiel had Dean flat on his back. “It’ll be easier on you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Dean put a little something silky in his voice. He watched it working on him, the way Cas bit his own lip at the sound. Then he twisted, trying again to flip him.

Cas’ determination won out. Well, determination and Dean fighting with one good arm and one not quite so good arm; Cas had him pinned at the hips with his body, hands pushing Dean’s wrists into the mattress on either side of his head.

It had started out quietly passionate; a soft, long, deep kiss as they helped each other out of their clothes, silence as Dean stretched out on his bed and watched Castiel fish around in a drawer. He’d pulled out a condom along with the lube and ripped the wrapper, setting it on the table with a smile so un-angelic that Dean had snorted.

And then it was on.

“Do I look like your little bitch?” Dean asked, chin jutting up. 

They were both chuckling; quick, guarded sounds like they wanted to laugh way harder but were afraid to lose their edge if they gave in to it.

“Not generally, no, but….” Cas looked him up and down, letting his hips buck a little, making an ‘mmmm’ sound at how good it felt. “…at the moment? Yes. You do.”

“That’s it…you’re done!” 

Suddenly Castiel was falling, Dean grunting as they tumbled and twisted, both laughing grimly, starting to sweat, muscles tight, fingertip marks bright pink where they were grappling for control and…..

“Oww! My arm!”

“Oh..…” Castiel let go, horrified, but…

“Fool,” Dean had him out flat now, drew their hands up by his head to put Cas exactly where he’d just been a second ago. “Can’t believe you fell for that shit.”

Looking away with a ‘fuck you’ snort seemed like the only reasonable response, but then Dean was dipping in, mouth against his ear, tongue darting in, teeth nipping, once and not too gently. The shiver it drew from him flew like a lightning bolt from Castiel’s neck all the way to his thighs.

“You want to top me, Cas?” Dean breathed. “I’m starting to think you really do.”

He nodded, eyes staying where they were, away from Dean's.

Dean pressed one more kiss just in front of his ear and then fell away from him.

Castiel sat up to find him on his back, arms loose at his side. Dean's gaze was hazy, one knee up, foot planted and the other leg out, his beautiful body spread open to him.

“No sense denying it,” Dean said, and Castiel smiled at the tension in his voice. “The way you’ve been in my head, you know I’ve thought about it.”

“I do. You have no idea…” He stretched out over him, demanding his gaze. “How much I want to please you. To make it better than you’ve imagined.”

~*~

Castiel knew the best way to insure this went well; he needed to make Dean at least half-crazy with want. And he knew the method most likely to get him there.

“Yessss….” Dean had sighed his encouragement when Cas drifted south and took him in his mouth, just the head and tip of his cock, suckling him. He gripped Dean, too, barely stroking.

He waited until Dean was twisting, fighting not to push and then took him deeper, head rising and falling. He jumped at the groan that pulled from him, how Dean's hand found Cas' hair, fingers digging in and tugging. His other hand drifted back, finding Dean's hole with slicked fingers, teasing and then sliding them, twisting and crooking until a fingertip glided over his goal and.....

"Aahhhhng... Oh, fuck, fuck..." Dean was up on his elbows, head falling back and mouth open at the unexpected jolts of shivering, toe-curling sensation. 

Love button located. Castiel stroked it some more until Dean felt close to coming apart for him, then he laid off it, slipping his fingers out, pushing Dean's legs back when Dean's head fell to the pillow again. 

"How'd you learn this?" Dean growled it, hands reaching back and finding the headboard slats as Cas lined up. "How'd you get so good at..."

"I bought a book..." Cas smiled down at him, loving the pink-cheeked, slightly frantic look on Deans face as he pushed into him, the way Dean gasped and laughed at the same time, eyes squeezing shut and body bucking. Cas watched him grab his own twitching cock and start tugging hard, fast, as they rocked in synch.

"Figures..." Dean fought to get the words out without sounding like a shaky mess. "Geek."

Castiel answered silently - with snapping hips, marks sucked and bitten into Dean's taut neck, and with eyes that squinted but would not leave his- that wouldn't let Dean hide when he shook and seized and called out for him. 

"Castiellllll!"

He'd never loved hearing his own name so much.

~*~

"Get a room," Sam tossed the words out casually on his way by them, prepping for his morning run.

"We have a room," Dean never took his eyes off the TV set, Cas behind him and half draped over him on the sofa. "We thought after three days of not leaving it except for food and soap and water maybe we'd..."

"We are wearing clothes," Cas pointed out helpfully.

Sam turned back around, sneakers in hand, trying not to give in and laugh at that 'cause oh hell, it never hit him what else he might accidentally walk in on someday.

"I hope you've enjoyed the honeymoon..."

"You take those words back," Dean said. "Or I will get up and come over there and..."

"...I really hope you did. Because right after breakfast? I'm so finding us a case."

-fin-


End file.
